Notions

Posted on by gmfx

While she was filling up the tank, Monica had heard the other car door slam, but she assumed Fatima was just heading into the gas station to pee. So, she was very perplexed to see her friend tromping out of the ditch by the highway instead. “What were you doing down there?”

Fatima’s face was all summer breeze and sunshine. “Picking wildflowers,” she answered.

But she had done more than that. What Fatima held up was a woven crown of small blue and purple and white blossoms. “It’s lovely,” Monica said.

“Then it’s perfect for you.” Fatima stepped behind Monica. Close behind. She began gathering up Monica’s long auburn hair and pulling out through the wreath she had made.

Monica’s heartbeat had quickened. “I hope you’re not getting notions,” she said.

A smile shaped Fatima’s words as she asked, “What sort of notions?”

Monica fought to keep her voice casual. “This has been a fun trip, but . . .”

“But?”

Monica sighed. “I don’t really do . . . relationships.”

It felt strangely painful to say those words, a pain that sharpened when Fatima’s answered simply, “I know.”

Was that regret in Fatima’s voice? Monica could feel that breath of that answer on her neck and the gentle rug of Fatima’s fingers running through her hair. “So what are you doing?” Monica asked.

Fatima walked back around to face Monica. She shrugged and answered, “I’m crowning a beautiful woman with summer.” A wide, glowing smile, deep, generous eyes looking over her handiwork. As simple as the answer was, Monica realized it was genuine. Fatima was asking for nothing, and Monica suddenly wanted to give her everything. She leaned forward and found Fatima’s lips with hers.

A gust of summer wind. A sudden eruption of birdsong. The softness of fluffy white clouds. Heat and flowers and blazing sunsets.

Their lips parted.

Fatima arched an eyebrow as her mouth curved into a smile. “Notions?” she asked.

Monica’s cheeks were flushed red. “Maybe I could make an exception.”

* * *

Story by Gregory M. Fox

Reliability

Posted on by gmfx

Doug marveled.

No one would have described Doug as artistic. Very few would have described him at all. The former mechanic was an oddity at the theater where he worked, if only because he was so mundane. But avant-garde dance and eclectic productions of Shakespeare still need someone to raise the curtain. Doug had strong arms, deft hands, and never missed a cue.

Reliability can be easy to overlook.

Doug was there for every show. From his post at the fly rail, far from the stage lights, Doug watched. Doug listened. Doug saw.

No one would have described Mazie as a star. Few would have described her either. But every night, Mazie found a fresh rose at her place in the dressing room. She was just the understudy. But soon she had more flowers than she knew what to do with.

Sometimes, reliability means everything.

When Mazie took a bow her first night in the lead role, Doug marveled at how the light danced around her face. From his spot off stage, he whispered, “Oh, that I were a glove upon that hand that I might touch that cheek.”

Then Mazie turned to look at him and blew a kiss.

* * *

Story by Gregory M. Fox

Photo by Emily C. Fox

Gray

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I was trying to be happy. Your smile was radiant, and you wore the necklace I gave you for your birthday. Rumbling down the dirt road in your jeep made me feel like a kid again, but then I felt embarrassed for being so old to begin with.

Could you tell what I was feeling? I think you could.

We had the beach practically to ourselves. A biting, misty wind whipped in over the waves. We huddled close together on the pale sand. You slipped your hands beneath my jacket, clung tightly to my sweater. “You’re so warm,” you sighed.

Were you just trying to make me feel better? I’m not sure.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “This was a bad idea.” I felt your body go rigid, felt you begin to pull away, felt everything start to fall apart. No point in putting it off. I lowered my gaze to meet yours.

Your eyes were hard, and I felt myself break against your glare. I didn’t want to lose you. A smile curled your lips. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said. “I’m right where I want to be.”

But did you mean it? I believe you did.

* * *

Story by Gregory M. Fox

Purple

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Melissa could hardly pick a detail to focus on. Dark purple polish, chipped and sparkling, the tattooed rings stacked on her upper arm, the delicate way she tucked her hair behind her ear, the pale green eyes darting back and forth, or the way a slow smile spread across Alina’s face as she read the back of the DVD case. Then suddenly the eyes turned to her, alight and vibrant.

“Have you heard of this one?” Alina asked, stepping closer. The fragrance of vanilla bean and cloves filled Melissa’s senses. Alina’s body was right next to hers. She couldn’t focus on any details of the movie, just the soft cool touch of Alina’s arm brushing against hers.

“I think you should get it,” Melissa said.

“Yeah?”

“We could,” she swallowed the lump in her throat, “watch it tonight. At my place?”

For a moment, Alina’s face was perfectly still. Melissa couldn’t feel her heart beating, and she wondered whether time had stopped or whether she had simply died right in that moment. A slow smile. “Sure,” Alina replied casually.

“And maybe we…” Melissa couldn’t find any words to encompass her hope.

Then fingers with chipped polish folded between hers. “Yes.”

* * *

Story by Gregory M. Fox

Wool

Posted on by gmfx

On their third date, Candace and Michael were still getting used to seeing each other without masks. They grinned at each other constantly all through dinner until Candace pointed out a seed stuck in Michael’s teeth. She laughed so hard at his panicked expression that water squirted out of her nose.

Michael had been mortified, but Candace still invited him back to her apartment for drinks. “You look warm,” she remarked. “Why don’t you take off that sweater?” She indulged herself in a quick peek at his narrow hips and flat stomach as his undershirt pulled up with the sweater, but then he started writhing awkwardly, stuck halfway with the sweater covering his head. With one forceful tug, Candace freed him from his woolen constraint, but the static electricity left tufts of his hair standing on end.

“What is it?” he asked as Candace stifled a giggle.

“Nothing,” she insisted, leaning forward to kiss him. A bolt of static electricity crackled between their puckered lips and both jumped, clutching their mouths.

Then Candace started giggling.

Michael’s shoulders slumped. “I guess I should go,” he sighed.

“No!” Candace said. “Stay! This is the best date I’ve had in a long time.”

* * *

Story by Gregory M. Fox
Image by Karolina Grabowska from Pixabay

Shoes

Posted on by gmfx

It shouldn’t have taken so long for her to get someone’s attention. Finally, she caught a clerk’s eye. “Is there . . . something I can help you with?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said with a bright smile. “Those.”

His eyes followed her pointing finger to a shoe perched on the highest display shelf. The double take was unmistakable. “I can show you something a little more . . .” she saw the hesitation as he glanced at her chair, then said, “practical. If you want.”

“No,” she answered. “I want these. Size eight.”

She sat with the box in her lap, surprised by her own giddiness. Despite already knowing exactly what the box contained, she couldn’t resist feeling elated when she lifted the lid and saw the shoes there, nestled in the folds of parcel paper. They were perfect. Bright red, thin, elegant straps, a spiked heel. She lifted first her left foot, then her right to put them on and swiveled to face the mirror. They were perfect.

She rushed to answer the doorbell’s chime. Turning the knob, then rolling back, she opened the door to admit her date. He stepped in, smiling.

“Hey,” she said.

“Hi. You . . .” his grin widened, “you look great.”

Photo by Castorly Stock

Story by Gregory M. Fox